Deadpool: We The People
by ecopper12
Summary: Deadpool re-kills our forefathers. Because, uh...They're alive again. I don't really get it either...(Novelization of the current aformentioned Deadpool storyline)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**New York City**

**November 7, 2012**

**11:55**

Man, some days, I just feel like nothing is going my way. You know the type of days I'm talking about…A typical Monday in which you can't help but fight a gigantic four-armed dinosaur that's trying to be menacing, but really feels like a Godzilla rip-off a little far from home. Yeah, it _feels_ like a Monday, for sure.

The name's Wade Wilson. Or as you might know me, That One Guy With the Red And Black Sock on His Head: Deadpool. I'm a mercenary, and that means I don't have a boss. I just work for the people who have the most moolah. And that's just the way I like it...Anyway, where was I...Oh, yeah! Monday!

But this "typical" Monday was about to get a little more interesting than that. See, a guy like me – smart, handsome, devilish, and able to take one _hell_ of a wallop – isn't exactly on the best of terms with any hero types. So when I came bursting through the belly of the beast (Quite literally, might I add) and was met with the sounds of terror and vomiting, I briefly wondered what my super special "team-up-of-the-day" buddy had to say.

"Speak of this misadventure, and your face shall feel Mjolnir's kiss. Understand?" he boomed. I always wondered why gods had to boom when they spoke. Must be an ego thing.

"Yep. No blabbing, blogging, or tweeting about our marvelous team-up," I said, turning to greet the God of Thunder. He simply stared back at me and started to swing his hammer in large, circular motions. Yep. Definitely an ego thing.

"We did_ not_ team up..." he grumbled, jabbing a finger into my already injured shoulder.

"You got it, partner." I would've grinned, but you know...I have the whole "full face mask" thing going on. I turned to leave, but was interrupted by some guy who owned a nearby shop shouting and waving a broom at me. I'm sure he was saying something about me not being able to just leave a giant, disemboweled dead lizard in the middle of the road, but I wasn't really paying attention. I was more concerned with the fact that he brought a broom to the scene. Did he think it would help? Sometimes, I just don't get people...

"Just roll Deadzilla to the curb. I'm sure some hobo will eat it," I said with the dismissive wave of my hand. Before I could say anything else, something further up the street put the people into another frenzied panic.

I stumbled in the opposite direction of where people where running. Speaking strictly from experience, if you wanna find the source of the trouble, drive down the wrong side of the highway. Or something...I don't know, my analogies were never very good.

A little ways further up the street, a police officer was directing the people away. As soon as he laid his eyes on me, he gasped.

"Buddy, we've got to get you some _help_!" He said it as if he _didn't_ know about me and my healing factor. Tch...Amateur.

"Are you hitting on me, Captain Porn-Stache? I'll be fine in a minute," I said, eying the suspiciously well-groomed mustache officer. Then, after some deliberation, I decided to divulge my secret to him.

"You see, I was once at death's door. But science and the kind folk in the Canadian Government gave me a new immune system, allowing me to heal myself from anything."

The officer's mouth fell agape as I fiddled with my small intestine.

"Who says Government Health Care is bad? I wish I was you!" He exclaimed excitedly. Oh, if he only knew...

"Yeah, but the procedure left me with a little skin problem..." I promptly turned and vomited on the ground at my feet. I don't remember eating THAT recently...Huh...

The officer looked skeptical, "Oh, come on. How bad can it be?" He said, reaching a hand out to steady me. I turned to face him, and his eyes widened. A usual reaction, if I'm honest.

I had a skin condition. Or rather, I had almost no skin to _have_ a condition for. My whole body was covered in patches of flesh, with exposed muscles poking out here and there. It didn't hurt, and it made for a killer Halloween when I could just go out with jeans and no shirt and be a dead ringer for a zombie...Heh..._Dead _ringer...

"Yeah, you're right! Life _is_ beautiful!" I said, grinning with what mouth I had. It'll come back soon enough.

And then I heard it. A simple shout that started this whole mess. Well, "simple" _really_ isn't the word for it...

"That's right! Run! You knickerbockers still treat this city like your private chamber pot! I, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, will clean up this city if I must do it single-handledly!"

...A former president. A _dead_ former president. A dead former president rolling down the streets of New York in a _wheelchair_...I _really_ hate Mondays...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

You know, I always used to say that one day something from the past would come back to destroy us, but no one ever believed me. Hell, I didn't believe it myself most of the time, considering, you know...Death is a permanent thing, but hey. I'm still around.

And yet...There he was, good old F.D.R rolling towards us and shaking his undead fist in the air.

…I think the officer next to me may have peed a little.

"Stop and drop, uh...Mister President!" said the officer, trying to sound like he had guts. But really, it just came out as a confused and misguided grumble. Poor guy. The message carried nonetheless.

"Are you laboring under the impression that you can stop me, young man?" Roosevelt asked, lifting a nearby taxi cab with ease. The officer next to me lifts his gun and fires off a few shots, before realize the futility in his efforts. It's almost cute, how police haven't learned that bullets never stop any of the villains.

Roosevelt chucks the cab in my direction, and I jump to the side to avoid being crushed.

"Who says you can't catch a cab in New York?" I say, as I stick the landing. Nice one, Deadpool. Ten out of ten.

FDR cracks his knuckles and begins to speak, "And what about you, Mummer. Are you next to feel my wrath?"

I recall a line from a movie. I'm not sure what movie, and I'm not sure what line, but I've never been one to bite my tongue over something so trivial.

"Yep! I'm your dingleberry."

...Maybe I _should_ have thought before speaking.

"Very well, let's get this over with. I've not got all-" Before Roosevelt can finish what I can only assume would turn into another inauguration speech, I open fire. Point blank, tons of bullet. That's gotta do _something_, right?

Roosevelt flies backwards, his guts spilling out of him. Overkill? Maybe. I should say something to clear my image...

"Just so everyone knows, the wheelchair started it!" Another great one-liner. I should do stand-up.

Then, from the wheelchair, I hear FDR mumble something like, "And I'll finish it, clown..." before his wheelchair jets toward me with lightning speed. I didn't have time to dodge. Roosevelt comes charging into me, sending us both careening into the subway station.

Great. Now the handicapped can move faster than I can. What's this world coming to?

"Wow, you must _wheelie_ hate me!" I say. Keep 'em coming, self. You got this.

We end our midair ride when we crash into a wall near a guy who screams something about "Improv Everywhere" and runs away.

"Help! Call the Ghostbusters! Historical Society! March of Dimes! Call somebody!" I shout after him. He doesn't. Probably in too much of a hurry. That's New York...

My inner monologue gets interrupted when Roosevelt shocks me with lighting. You know, I've never actually experience getting shocked this much, but let me tell you, it smarts. So naturally, I take off my mask and shove it on to FDR's face in response.

While he's messing with the mask, I roll his chair into the subway track, just as the 4:15 speeds by.

I sit there, breathing heavily, watching the subway go bye. S.H.I.E.L.D agents come barreling down the steps, and one of them orders me to stay down. I do. Because I like to listen to people after fighting dead presidents. It's common courtesy.

The woman who gave the order to me shouts some commands to the other agents, before asking me where FDR is.

"He had a train to catch," I respond. _Classic_, Deadpool. _Classic_.

Suddenly, the lightning returns.

"You have nothing to fear...Except ME!"

As we're writhing in pain, FDR challenges my skill at making jokes.

"Here's a NEW DEAL...DIE!"

That's it. NO ONE takes away my shtick and lives.

"You don't belong here!" I say, readying my sword. I leap at FDR and plunge my blade into his chest. "Old people should either be dead, or in Florida!"

FDR makes some empty threat about destroying me, but he's not so tough with a sword in him. I push it further in. "Sorry you have to be going, but at least we did New York...To the hilt." Comedic dominance reestablished.

Roosevelt begins to spark and glow, and suddenly, he explodes in a dazzling show of blue light and electricity. Katy Perry would be proud.

As I lie there recuperating, I hear murmurs of surprise from the various S.H.I.E.L.D agents. The woman approaches me. "How would you like a job, Deadpool?"

I mull it over for a bit. Does it come with benefits? I need a good dental plan...Meh. Maybe not. "Lady, I'm taking some time off, thank you very much."

"I'll make it worth your while. There's more undead presidents we need to deal with," she says trying to lift me up. I groan in protest. "Let's get you back to the helicarrier." With a mighty tug on my arm, she manages to...Tear it clean off. No biggie.

"I'm honored that you trust me to _serve_ the country I do the most _damage_ in," I say, now with one arm. At least it wasn't a leg. I don't wanna see another wheelchair for a while...

"Are you kidding?" She starts, "America's REAL heroes can't be seen killing our forefathers! You're not the hero we _want_, Wade. You're the hero we _need_."

Being Batman is totally fine with me, too. I smile.

"Still happy to be part of the team!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**S.H.I.E.L.D Infirmary**

**November 7, 2012**

**3:00 PM**

Hospitals suck. You know what I mean when I say that, too. I don't put up a fuss when they try to save my life (not that I need that help often), but when they give me that backless gown to walk around in...I'm not so willing. I expected S.H.I.E.L.D's infirmary to have at least SOME class when it came to that department, but apparently while I was out, I was slipped into one of those gowns anyway.

...At least the breeze is nice.

Agent Preston (which I had come to understand was the lady from the subway's name) was watching over me, when a balding man who was obviously going through a midlife crisis came in whining about how they managed to get me to do the job for a couple million dollars.

"Hey, my services don't come cheap," I said, moving to stand. "Plus, they promised that I would get my money in a pillowcase with a dollar sign on it! How could I say no?"

"Let me tell you something, Deadpool," Agent Preston began, her tone dark, "You do what I say, when I say it. You tell anyone we're working together, I end you. You hurt a civilian, I throw you in a volcano. You understand?"

"I understand you have a lot of aggression towards me. Can we try to work that out?" I asked. Agent Mid-Life mumbled something to someone who was now talking into his ear. After a little bit, he looked up at me with a look of distrust. When I simply grinned, he turned to Agent Preston.

"George Washington has just entered Independence Hall in Philadelphia."

I pulled my mask on over my head. "Put me in, coach! It's my job, right? I'll finish this _tonight_...Can I have my pants back?"

**Liberty Hall**

**November 7, 2012**

**7:00 PM**

I got to Liberty Hall around the time the sun was going down. Which really made the whole situation more dramatic, since movies usually show zombies as coming out to fight when the sun goes down. Oh yeah. I'm Bruce Campbell.

Upon entering, I could hear the dull murmur of an old man saying words that had since been cataloged into the "things people these days do not say anymore" file. That's gotta be Washington. I followed the sound until it became barely contained yelling from behind a door. And you know what I love about doors?

They can be kicked in.

"Knock knock! League of Women Voters!" I said, splintering the door with my foot. Inside were...A lot more dead president's that I had expected. "Uh...Is this a bad time? Should I come back when the undead strippers get here?"

"Hark! A knave!" Washington shouted. I'm starting to believe he has a pocket edition of the aforementioned file. Seeing all this stuff happen in front of me kind of set me up for a joke. So I went for it.

"One of these days, you're gonna love Bill ClintonNNGH-" I was cut short. Shot in the back of the head. I never saw who it was, but I like to thing I have a pretty clear understanding of irony and can identify it when it happens.

Short Answer: Honest Abe likes to take cheap shots.

Before I blacked out (Being shot in the head didn't put me out right away, for whatever reason) I heard their plan.

"All in favor of destroying this country and starting over?" Washington started. There was not a single nay to be had.

"Motion is unopposed and carries. We shall destroy this country and start anew..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

You know, there's nothing better than the beach. You get to lay out a towel, sit in the sun, close your eyes and listen to the waves...Have hot women in swimsuits be at your side...Yeah. Nothing beats the beach. But I had a splitting head-ache for some reason...

"Unh...My head hurts..." I say, vocalizing my thoughts.

Then, I hear Susan Storm's voice next to me.

"I'm not surprised. Abe Lincoln gave you quite a shot in your handsome melon," she cooed. "Here Wade, have a cold one."

"Thanks, Sue," I responded taking the can from her. Now, kids...Just because Uncle Wade can drink beer...Aw, what the hell. Go nuts.

"Get rid of that see-through soccer mom," growled another voice. Emma Frost. "Sue, why don't you show us that disappearing trick you do?"

Sue narrowed her eyes at Emma.

"Honey," she said, placing a hand on my arm possessively. "Tell that pale 'Rhymes with Witch' to go drown."

This can't go on...Two beautiful women fighting over me? That's not good...Or is it?

...Nah. Not unless there's a bowl of jello involved. I gotta stop this.

"Hey, Emma, Sue...There's more than enough of me to go around!"

After I exchanged glances with both of them, I sighed as the pounced on each other. Women...What can you do?

"Now ladies...I want a clean, but slow and enjoyable fight."

Just as they were starting to really get into it, I heard the thumping of large shoes behind me. Which, considering this is a beach, and you'd have to be massive to make _sand_ thump under your foot...

"You're better than this, Wade," She-Hulk said, lifting me up off the ground. "Look at all these over-sexualized fantasies falling all over each other. It's disgusting. Where is your smart, fun, attractive woman?"

When I didn't respond and only shot a glance at the deadly brawl that was Sue Storm and Emma Frost, She-Hulk pulled me closer and locked lips with me. My eyes shot open wide with horror as her...

"Live! You must LIVE!"

"MMPLARH! Gross!" I coughed, being pulled back into reality. Cold, hard, not-so-beach-like reality...Who shouted the stuff about living? I looked up to see a pudgy ghost-like being standing above me. I quickly stood up.

"Huzzah! My 'Respiratory Massage' worked!" He shouted with glee. Wait a minute...This guy looks familiar...Then it clicked. I readied my sword.

"Hey! I know you! You're the president on that money I can never afford!" I said, plunging my sword through...The air?

My blade passed right through the man's shape. Huh...Strange.

"Gracious!" He reacted, surprised. "Son, my name is Benjamin Franklin. I was never a president, nor am I undead. Just...Dead, I'm afraid."

So...Now he's saying he's a ghost and I can't kill him? _MAN_! Talk about bad days...

"Whatever. I'm from Canada, we didn't have to learn about you," I said, waving my sword around. With every slice it just passed through him. I withdrew and sheathed my blade in frustration. "...I thought this gig would be fun. Now I'm pissed."

"Calm down, son. It's true! When I was alive, proved that lightning was electricity. My experiments granted me the knowledge to remain here on Earth as a being of pure electricity. But when my former colleagues walked into the door earlier, I was shocked and dismayed..."

He's a being of pure electricity. And he was shocked...I better keep an eye on this one. We don't need a repeat of FDR.

"I get it. You're a ghost. Or I'm totally crazy and am talking to myself again. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to kill me some more undead presidents."

"My boy, the key to stopping the corrupted executives lies at the source of what brought them back. Tell me, who is responsible for this atrocity?"


End file.
